


I'll bleed out for you

by Panthera_tigris



Series: reach inside to find my heart is beating [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Blood, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panthera_tigris/pseuds/Panthera_tigris
Summary: Dying alone on the dirty streets of Gotham, Dick muses on his failings and the one he loves.





	I'll bleed out for you

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend listening to Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.  
Based on Brendon Thwaites and Esai Morales versions of Dick & Slade

So, this is what dying feels like.

Granted, he's been injured severely before and never been so fatalistic about it. But something about this time felt like the end.

It's ironic really, that a life spent facing evil head-on would be ended by cowardly shots to the back. He'd always thought his life would be ended by someone like Penguin, Bane or even the Joker. But no, it was a single low-life with a .22; _a .22_! Not some complex poison weapon, military-grade technology or even a .45. It was a lame .22 revolver, probably picked up at a local pawn shop, wielded by a coward with a bone to pick with him. Apparently, his suit was protective enough to stop high tech weaponry but not something as simple as a .22 revolver.

He'd been out on a routine patrol of Gotham, keeping the thugs and villains at bay for at least the night. He had heard a woman scream and had instantly reacted, swooping down from his perch on the corner rooftop. He landed squarely on a thug threatening the woman for her purse at gunpoint. He had tackled him to the ground easily enough, knocking the gun away. He had risen slowly, as to not startle the frightened woman. She had thanked him briefly before running off down the street. He had cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck, letting his guard down ever so briefly.

He had heard the shots before he felt them, three distinct pops in the otherwise quiet night. Then his body was on fire.

He'd been shot before so the sensation wasn't exactly new to him, but he'd never been shot three times at such close range. He fell to his knees, clutching at his abdomen where one of the bullets went completely through him. It burned to high hell. He pulled his hand away and it was completely covered in his own blood. He had heard footsteps scurrying away as he slumped backwards, all muscles in his body giving out simultaneously.

On his back, he could feel the blood seeping out of him into a crimson puddle on the dirty pavement. Three bullets; one through his abdomen, one through his shoulder and lodged in his clavicle and one stopped against the bones of his spine.

It was the abdominal wound that concerned him the most. It was in the general vicinity of his liver, which had astounding regenerative properties, yes but, was also home to a lot of blood and blood vessels. So blood loss was going to be his biggest threat.

The old adages didn't seem to be true about death. He didn't see a light at the end of the tunnel, just rooftops and stars over his head. He didn't have an out of body experience or anything like that, his _soul_ or whatever, stayed tethered to his body. His life didn't flash before his eyes at all. Instead he just laid there, the life leeching out of him, and think.

Instead of thinking about how everyone he knew would mourn him, he could only think about everyone he had failed.

He had failed his training and thus failed Bruce, his father-figure in every right. He let his guard down for one single second and now here he was. Bruce wouldn't be sad or despondent in the wake of this, he'd be _disappointed_. All those years, the majority of his life, he had trained and trained and now he had _failed._

And his brothers. _His brothers_. How could they possibly react to this? Would they be disappointed as well in his failure? Jason would probably make some joke about Dick getting lazy in his "old age" that would fall on unamused ears.

He attempted to laugh, but what came out was a choked half-noise that came with a splatter of blood. The bullet in his clavicle must have pierced his lung after all, as it was progressively getting harder to breathe.

His friends. Oh, _his friends_. He'd miss them. Would they miss him? He doubts they'd miss him being so demanding and challenging all the time. If he could do it all again, he'd probably ease up on the training and commands and focus more on just being their friend. He kind of failed at that, too. Would they forgive him for not being his best at that either?

Dick coughed and sputtered, still clutching the wound bleeding the most. Each wound burned like it was on fire and throbbing at the same time. His vision was fading slightly as he felt the life leeching from his body. It was then he noticed his legs and arms were going numb. He tried to kick out his leg, to do something else but lay there dying passively, but his legs didn't respond to his body's command.

He sighed. Well, he tried to, anyways.

So, this is what dying felt like.

There was one person he was pointedly _not_ thinking about. Someone he had purposefully been ignoring in the back of his mind for months now. A deep brown eye was seared into his subconscious like a brand. His voice repeated in Dick like a song stuck in his head. Dick could feel the phantom sensations of his fingers carding through graying hair, the scritch of his beard against Dick's chin and cheeks, and the slide of calloused hands over his skin.

Slade was suddenly all Dick could think about. If Nightwing disappeared would he even know that Dick was dead? Slade disappears for days if not weeks, sometimes. Would Dick even know if he died? If the secret late night rendevous they had just ended without a word, what would Dick do? Their meetings was one of the only things holding Dick together these days.

A lone tear ran down his cheek. Dick knew he'd tear the world apart to find Slade again. Would Slade do the same? Slade didn't even know Dick's real name, or his age, or anything about him, Slade just knew him as _his_ Robin, Nightwing or the rare affectionate _little bird_. Yet Dick like the thought that Slade would. He was sure of it now, Slade would burn the world down to get to his Robin.

God, he was pathetic. Here he is, literally dying and he still can't come to terms with the fact that he was in love.

_Love_. There it was, staring him in the face. It had certainly crept up on him after these few months, but suddenly it was all he could feel- despite the ache in his bones and the burning in his body- all he could feel was a warm radiating desire in his heart. He loved Slade.

But he never got to tell him, Dick realized with a pained sob. He never got to say those words to him over and over again until his voice was hoarse. He never got to scream it from the rooftops: that he was in love with the mercenary.

His ears stopped thumping with the sound of his heart, replacing the sound with a loud, vague, fuzzy, white noise. The numbness was radiating from his arms and legs to his core, taking a bit of the pain with it. He coughed, blood dripping down his chin and cheeks, a cold sweat making his hair cling to his forehead. Breathing was getting harder and more painful, so he made the vaguely conscious effort to stop breathing entirely.

This was it. He could feel his heartbeat grow weak and slow, the blood no longer seeping steadily from his wounds. There was so much he'd never get to do with Slade; the stupid selfish things he wanted to do in life, like get married or run away together. He'd never given much thought to those things before, but he realized it was everything he wanted.

Dick let out an agonizing noise somewhere between a sob and a muted scream. The burning and throbbing was gone now, his body numb. He was so tired of fighting it. He let out his final breath and let his eyes flutter shut.

From somewhere far in the distance, Dick heard a yell and then quick footsteps coming towards him. He suddenly felt hands on his body, pressing into his abdomen painfully and he let out a wounded noise. Dick wrenched his eyes open to see, but everything was fuzzy- all he could make out was a dark figure looming above him. One of the hands, large and warm, cradled his head, the sensation growing more faint with every passing second. Then he heard a voice, faint and slightly garbled as if Dick were sinking under water- a voice he vaguely recognized.

"I've got you, little bird."

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas for a sequel, comment if interested. <333  
Kudos are love, comments are life  
ily bbys


End file.
